A Cold Drink

The sparring session was brutal, and Y/N had known it would be. From the very first lock-up, Rhea had dominated the ring, pushing him to the limits of his endurance. Her strikes were sharp, her movements precise, and her relentless pace left him gasping for breath. It was a crash course in what it meant to truly be tested, to see just how much his body could handle before it screamed for mercy.

For every counter, every dodge, Y/N had to dig deeper. But even with the sweat pouring down his face and his muscles screaming for rest, he couldn’t help but feel the rush—the exhilarating thrill of testing his limits alongside someone who was, without question, one of the best.

It was only when Rhea executed a near-perfect suplex, sending him crashing to the mat with a thud that shook the ring, that they both paused. Y/N lay there for a moment, catching his breath, staring up at the lights above. His chest heaved with exhaustion, but despite the ache in his body, he felt something else—a sense of respect for the woman who had just put him through hell and still had enough energy to stand above him, watching.

Rhea offered a hand down to him. “You okay, kid?”

Y/N took it, pulling himself up with her help, a grin creeping onto his face despite the pain. “Yeah… just wasn’t expecting you to hit that hard,” he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “But I guess I needed that wake-up call.”

Rhea gave a half-smile, wiping her own brow. “Good. Maybe next time, you won’t be so easy to throw around.” Her eyes glinted with a mix of challenge and approval, as if acknowledging that Y/N had proven himself worth the effort.

“Maybe,” he replied with a laugh, straightening up and shaking off the dizziness. “Though, I think I’ll need a cold drink first before I can even think about a ‘next time.’”

Rhea chuckled. “You earned it. Let’s grab one.”

The two of them left the ring, walking side by side toward the exit. It wasn’t often that wrestlers shared a drink after a sparring session, especially not in a world as competitive as theirs. But something about Rhea’s straightforward approach made it feel natural. There was no pretense, no ego—it was just two people who had been through something difficult and were now sharing a moment of mutual respect.

They stepped into the small lounge area behind the arena, the fluorescent lights flickering softly overhead. A few other wrestlers were lounging around, recovering from their own matches or workouts, but the space was quiet, almost tranquil compared to the noise of the arena.

Y/N went straight for the fridge, pulling out two cold cans of beer. He handed one to Rhea with a casual smile. “Cheers.”

Rhea took it without hesitation, cracking it open and taking a long gulp. “To surviving the ring and not dying afterward,” she said with a wink, her usual intensity now softened by the camaraderie between them.

Y/N raised his can to clink it against hers. “To getting better, no matter how much it hurts.”

They both drank in silence for a moment, the cold beer refreshing their parched throats. Y/N leaned back against the counter, looking at Rhea. Despite the bruises already starting to form on his body, he couldn’t deny that the experience had been exhilarating.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “I have to ask. What keeps you going? I mean, I’ve watched you in the ring for a long time. You don’t just win—you dominate. How do you stay at the top like that?”

Rhea’s eyes shifted, her expression thoughtful. She took another sip of her drink before responding, her voice a little quieter now. “It’s not about being at the top, Y/N. It’s about never letting anyone take that spot from you.” She set the can down on the counter, her gaze locking with his. “You think that once you’ve made it, once you’re at the top of the food chain, it gets easier? Hell no. It’s constant pressure. Every match, every opponent, every second in that ring—it’s all a test. A reminder that nothing is guaranteed.”

Y/N nodded, understanding what she meant. He’d seen it in the eyes of the veterans, those who had been in the business for years—always fighting, always striving. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” she admitted with a half-smile. “But if you want to be great, you better get used to it. It’s not about the applause or the titles. It’s about the fight. Every single day.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just absorbing her words. He had always known that wrestling wasn’t a job—it was a lifestyle, a commitment that demanded more than most people were willing to give. But hearing it from Rhea, hearing the raw honesty in her voice, made it feel more real than ever.

“So, what's your plan?” Y/N asked, shifting his stance. “I mean, you’ve already accomplished so much. What’s next for someone like you?”

Rhea gave a small shrug, her eyes glinting with determination. “I’ve never been one to sit back and relax. There’s always another goal. Always something bigger to fight for. You can’t get complacent. Not in this business.”

Y/N let out a quiet laugh. “Seems like we’re cut from the same cloth then.” He took another sip of his beer, feeling the weight of her words settle in. “I’m not here to just make it—I want to leave a legacy. I want people to remember my name long after I’m gone.”

Rhea’s gaze softened just slightly, the smallest flicker of approval passing through her eyes. “You’ve got the right mindset. Just remember—it’s not the name that matters. It’s the impact.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, each of them reflecting on their own paths. The conversation had shifted from casual small talk to something deeper, more personal. And in that silence, Y/N realized that, in a strange way, Rhea had just handed him a piece of her philosophy, one that he knew would stick with him.

The sound of footsteps approaching interrupted their quiet exchange. A few of the other wrestlers entered the room, breaking the tension, but Y/N and Rhea didn’t move. It was like they were in their own little world, both on the same wavelength, understanding the grind and the sacrifice that came with their shared passion.

“Well,” Y/N said, cracking a smile as the others started to settle around them, “I guess we should probably get back to work, huh?”

Rhea shot him a playful smirk. “You’re not ready for round two yet?”

He raised an eyebrow, feeling the burn in his muscles even now. “Maybe after one more cold drink.”

Rhea chuckled, nodding toward the door. “Alright. But next time, you better be ready. No excuses.”

Y/N grinned. “You got it.”

As they stood to leave, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. Whatever happened next—whatever challenges, victories, and defeats lay ahead—he knew one thing for sure: Rhea Ripley had just shown him a glimpse of what it truly meant to be great, and he was determined to follow her example, one step at a time.